Lost and Found
by idearlylovealaugh
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, some things seem lost forever - but the things we love most always find a way back.


_AN: This is my contribution for May 2, definitely a High Holy Day in the HP world! It's not actually set on May 2, since this is me, but it does take place just a few short weeks after. It's actually something I first started writing (but didn't finish) for a Fluff Fest on tumblr, which should give you a hint to the content contained therein!_

The end of May came slowly, achingly for the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts, as the heat of the sun burns off the persistent fog of a summer morning. It felt as though they were incrementally inching toward a routine, fighting the inertia of grief and upheaval as they tried to piece together some semblance of normalcy. Today at least, Hermione thought, Ron was eating with gusto, attacking his breakfast with a determination she hadn't seen since they returned to the Burrow.

After looking around to confirm that no one was paying attention to her, she laid a gentle hand on Ron's leg. He started a bit and turned to look at her, mouth full of porridge. The expression was so like that she had seen on his face hundreds of times at breakfast in the Great Hall, she couldn't help her smile.

"Do you want to take a walk up to the ridge today?" she asked quietly, thinking it would be nice to get outside for a bit and spend some time together.

Oddly enough, she thought she saw panic flash across his face as he struggled to swallow. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could respond to her suggestion Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen with his work satchel tucked under his arm.

"Good morning, Weasleys," he greeted the table with a smile that was tired, but genuine. "Kingsley spoke with Professor McGonagall yesterday, and she's asked for any willing volunteers to return to Hogwarts today to help with the reconstruction effort. I thought you four might be interested."

"Of course," she answered, glancing around. She saw Harry nodding his agreement across from her.

"I want to," Ginny began slowly, "but I think I'm going to check on George first. Maybe I'll meet you there later today."

"Excellent. The rest of you can head over right after breakfast. And I must be off as well, Molly dear," he added, bending to kiss her cheek as she dusted her floury hands on a tea towel.

"Right, you lot," the matriarch began with hands on hips as Arthur disappeared into the sitting room. "Plates in the sink, if you please."

"Ron, are you ready to leave?" Hermione asked in the shuffle of clean-up.

"Huh? Oh yeah, sure," he replied, looking preoccupied. Hermione looked at him worriedly, but he took her hand, lacing their fingers together as they made their way down the porch steps and into the bright May sunshine.

At Hogwarts Hermione found herself helping out in the Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor, repairing blasted-apart glass and masonry, sifting through battered textbooks supplies, and, to a lesser extent, removing the evil and suspect objects left by the thugs of Voldemort that had last occupied the classroom. There was destruction everywhere she looked, and it was difficult not to dwell on the events that had wrought it. Each new task held some kind of reminder of a recent tragedy or a happier time now long gone. In the midst of it all she found herself replaying the scene at breakfast over in her head as she worked, a slight frown on her face.

"Hermione? Er, Hermione?"

She started and turned. "I'm so sorry, Neville, my mind was somewhere else."

"I think we're all having that problem," he replied with an understanding smile. "And I'm sorry to bother you, but there seems to be a pretty complicated curse on this closet door. Do you think you could help with it?"

"Of course!" she answered, mentally berating herself for her inability to focus. She gripped her wand determinedly. "Let's take a look."

Dusk was quickly falling by the time Hermione filed out of the castle with several other students who had been working in the West Wing. They had toiled through dinner, although the remaining Hogwarts house elves had thoughtfully provided sandwiches and refreshments to the grateful volunteers. After a short speech from Professor McGonagall thanking them for their efforts and asking for their continued help in the next few days, the weary workers made their way toward the gates. Hermione found herself squinting in the dim light to scan the faces of others joining the throng from different parts of the grounds.

"Harry!" she cried, catching sight of his familiar messy black hair bobbing several meters ahead of her. She sped up to fall into step with him, weaving through a group of younger students that she recognized from the library.

"Where's Ron?" she asked, glancing around. "I thought the two of you were working together."

"We were, but he had to go take care of something else," Harry replied, fiddling with his wand.

"Oh," she returned, disappointed. "I don't see him… perhaps he's still working?"

"Could be," Harry answered noncommittally.

"I'll go look for him," she determined, stepping out of the flow of people and turning back towards the castle.

"No, I think you're right - he's probably still helping out.," Harry countered, taking her elbow and drawing her back into the crowd. "We should head back, I'm sure he'll be right on our heels. Besides, how do we know he's not ahead of us?"

Hermione allowed herself to be persuaded, but on reaching the Burrow she found that he hadn't yet returned. Starting to feel the familiar beginnings of panic but not wanting to alarm Molly unnecessarily, Hermione was about to ask Harry where he thought they should search for him first when he strode through the back door, followed closely by his father coming in from the shed.

"Goodness, son, they must have been working you hard!" Arthur remarked, seeing Ron's dirt-streaked t-shirt and muddy trainers. He patted him on the shoulder as he passed through the kitchen.

"There's so much work to be done," Harry agreed as Arthur left the room. "And I smell like a blast-ended skrewt. I'm gonna hit the shower before bed," he called as he climbed out of sight.

Hermione looked to Ron, half-expecting him to explain why he had been late, but he had already turned to follow Harry up the stairs. She hurried to catch up as Ron's long legs made short work of the steps up to the top floor. Rounding the last turning and slipping into his room, she found him mutely pulling open his dresser drawers. Hermione stood hesitantly by the door, unsure of what she should ask, until Ron turned to toss his wand onto the bed.

"You're hurt!" she gasped.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," he said, twisting his arm to look. Long red lines raked up his forearm, criss-crossing his elbow and disappearing under the sleeve of his t-shirt. The angry scratches stood out against the bright white scars left by the cursed brains that had wrapped around his arm in their fifth year.

"Were you outside with Hagrid? I thought you were by the astronomy tower with Harry, but he said he lost track of you."

There was as moment's pause as Ron rooted around in his drawer for a clean change of clothes. "Yeah, I was outside," he finally replied, pulling out a worn t-shirt and sleep trousers and draping them over his shoulder. "Smell pretty filthy, too. I'll be right back." He was out the door without another word.

Hermione dropped heavily onto the bed, her mind whirring unpleasantly. There was no doubt that something was off. Well, lots of things were still off, but this was different. It _had_ been an awfully long day, she reasoned as she tucked her feet under the blankets. She looked over at Harry's empty cot, wondering if he would make an appearance there tonight. They were all dealing with grief and guilt and loss in their own way, Ron included. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was being intentionally evasive.

The sunlight woke Hermione the next morning, painting a golden stripe across her face. Blinking her eyes open, she was immediately aware that, though she had certainly fallen asleep with Ron's long arms wrapped around her, she now was the only occupant in the narrow bed. Shaking off the languor of a deep sleep, she slid out of the worn sheets and dressed quickly, hurrying downstairs to find a nearly empty kitchen.

"Good morning, dear," Molly greeted her, bustling by with a tray. "The boys left early for Hogwarts, but I'm sure you knew that," she added, sliding it neatly into the old cast iron oven.

She did _not_ know that, but she certainly wasn't going to argue the point with Ron's mother. She ate without tasting her food, thanking Molly for breakfast and heading outside to apparate as soon as she was finished. Her mind was full of Ron as she walked past the wards, of his strange behavior and seeming unwillingness to talk to her, and as she spun into view of the gates she knew she wouldn't be easy until she could see him again, if only for a few minutes.

She worked methodically through the day, burdened with a sense of disconnect that was as unsettling as it was unwelcome. She had a task, a purpose, but she couldn't help feeling… directionless, somehow. She magicked pieces of the castle back together, wondering how it could ever be possible to make it seem as though a terrible tragedy had not occurred there. Some things were irretrievably lost, never to return.

It was fairly late in the day when she caught sight of Hagrid, pushing a colossal wheelbarrow of mangled pumpkins across the grounds. She darted across the lawn to catch up with him, hopping over the huge exposed roots of several trees that had been torn straight from the soil.

"Hagrid!" she called breathlessly, relieved when he turned and stopped.

"'Ermione!" D'yer need me for somethin'?" the giant man asked genially.

"No, no. I was just looking for Ron, and wondered if maybe he was helping you again today."

Hagrid looked at her curiously. "Wha, Ron? No, no… me 'n Fang were well deep in th' forest yesterday, meetin' wi' a centaur what found an injured knarl. Haven't seen Ron a' all this week." His great brown wrinkled into a frown. "Was I supposed ter?"

"Oh, no," she replied, her heart sinking. "I'm awfully sorry, I must've gotten mixed up."

"Well tha'd be a first!" he chortled. "Here now, I'll walk you to th' castle."

"Oh no, thank you Hagrid, that's not necessary," she answered quickly. "Goodbye!"

She turned and began tripping blindly down towards the gates, her mind reeling. She had thought Ron had spent the last two days at Hogwarts, helping with repairs - but clearly that wasn't the case. He had been somewhat… _shifty_ about the idea from the start, and hadn't wanted to tell her for some reason. The conclusion was obvious: either he was avoiding Hogwarts, or he was avoiding her. She supposed it wouldn't be strange for him to shun a place that held so many recent terrible memories, a place where he had lost a brother and countless friends. And he might not feel like talking about it because, well, everything was still so raw and painful.

Or… he could be having second thoughts about them, and didn't have the words or the heart to tell her. She _had_ been staying in his room every night, in his bed. Maybe the thought of working alongside her all day was too much. Maybe he needed space, needed more time alone to process everything. They were moving too fast.

Passing through the wrought iron gates, she immediately Apparated to the Burrow, dashing through the wards and up the well-worn porch steps. The kitchen was mercifully empty and she was able to race up the stairs to Ron's room, pulling the door shut behind her.

She paced back and forth, mentally reviewing what she wanted to say. She wanted to be understanding, because either way, he had to be hurting, and the thought of that broke her heart. She was upset that he hadn't been able to talk to her about it, but she didn't want to be accusatory. And she didn't want to sound aggrieved, because it wouldn't be his _fault,_ exactly,if he needed space from her, but she couldn't deny that the very prospect of that as the explanation made her stomach churn and twist, terrified of the greater prospect of what that might mean for them...

She was concentrating so intently on the conversation she was already having in her head that she missed his footfalls on the stairs, reacting to the rattle of the doorknob with a jolt of unprepared panic. Before she could remember the very first thing she wanted to say to him, the door was swinging open - but instead of a flash of bright ginger coming through the doorway about a foot above her head, it came in at her feet, and instead of avoiding her as she half expected him to, it streaked toward her and launched itself at her chest. She was holding it in her arms before she even had a chance to think, clutching it's soft ginger fur and feeling the deep vibrations resonating through its body.

"Crookshanks!" she half-sobbed, burying her face in the fur she always found so comforting. She clutched the cat close, hardly believing she was able to at all.

When they had come home to the Burrow after Voldemort's defeat, Ginny had tearfully related to Hermione that Crookshanks had disappeared from her Aunt Muriel's house some time ago and couldn't be found despite weeks of searching and waiting. She remembered the stark feeling of loss even as she consoled Ginny in her guilt - she knew that Ginny had done the best she could to care for him, and the Weasleys were already hurting so much as it was. Yet to find, a mere day after losing so many friends and still in many way parentless and without a family, that another steadfast companion had vanished into the aether was a terrible blow. Still, she stuffed down her grief, put on a brave face, and tried to be helpful.

Now, when she hadn't held him in nearly a year, a year that had held so much pain and heartbreak, she let her tears flow gratefully down her cheeks as he purred in her arms.

Slowly she became aware of Ron standing just inside his doorway, watching them with a tired grin.

"Ron, how?" she choked out. "Ginny said…"

"I know, but I didn't want to let it go without knowing for sure. When I went to Auntie Muriel's, she actually said that he had been seen around the village - which I'm sure she didn't bother to mention to Ginny, the old bat," he added with a scowl. "I spent most of the day asking around at shops and houses until I found someone that had left some milk out for him for a night or two just last week. He thought he saw him go into the woods north of his property, so I went in and poked around a bit, but it was getting pretty well dark by that point," he explained, jamming his hands into his pockets.

"The scratches…"

"Yeah, didn't see a bramblebush til it was too late," he grinned. "But the next day I went back with the light, and after a fair bit of searching I finally spotted him by a falling-down barn. The ruddy beast ran from me, though," he continued, eyeing Crookshanks critically. "Led me on a merry chase, he did. He didn't make it easy, but I reckon it was his idea of a bit of a test. What do you say, did I pass?" he asked, addressing Crookshanks directly.

The cat meowed balefully, leaping down from Hermione's arms. With a few dignified twitches of his tail, he paced over to Ron and twined around his legs for a moment, his squashed-in face looking up at him briefly before padding out the door to reacquaint himself with the Burrow and it's inhabitants.

"I think that's a yes?" Ron joked. He looked back up at Hermione with an amused smile, although his expression fell a little bit as he saw the tears still streaming down her face. "Er..."

"Ron, I just...," she trailed off, realizing she was completely incapable of putting her gratitude into words. The idea that he would take on a seemingly hopeless task for her and pursue it so tenaciously with everything else going on was so overwhelming, but also so perfectly _Ron_. It spoke so much to the man he had grown to be, the person she always knew he was in his heart.

"It's bollocks, the ban on international portkeys," Ron said stubbornly. His face softened as she continued to look at him with wide eyes. "I know we can't go to get your parents back right away, but I really wanted to do this for you." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't like not telling you, and letting you think I was at Hogwarts, but I really didn't want to get your hopes up until I knew I could find him, and..."

Hermione launched herself at him before he could finish, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Thank you, _thank you_. _So_ much. You don't know what this means to me, to find him, for him not to be lost."

He squeezed her tighter and she tucked her face under his chin, pressing her check to the soft cotton of his t-shirt. "We'll find them," he said fiercely. "And you're not alone. You'll always have me. You'll never be alone."

"Erm, unless you want to be," he added after a moment, sounding a bit nervous. "You know, if you need time to be alone. That's OK. I…"

She couldn't help kissing him then. He was so adorably uncertain of her reaction to this declaration about the future, about _their_ future, which was utterly ridiculous because if she had her way, they'd never truly part again. The sensation of kissing him was still so new, so thrilling, sending electricity racing through her veins while somehow also feeling like the most natural thing in the world, like coming home. She kissed him because it was the best feeling in the world, because she loved him, because she could.

"Mmm, that might be necessary at times," she teased as they broke apart. "To use the bathroom, and shower, and things like that."

"I could be pretty flexible about the shower, if I'm honest," he put in hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes affectionately. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied dryly, secretly rather pleased.

Ron pulled her close again, swaying her gently side to side. "You know, I feel kind of bad taking credit for this. Knowing that beast, I reckon he would've made his way back to you eventually, even without my help," he admitted, nodding his head toward the window.

Hermione leaned against him and looked out into the yard where Crookshanks stalked a gnome, his fur even brighter in the setting sun. She thought of seeing Ron's soaked ginger hair plastered to his face in a freezing forest, the feeling of finding what she had desperately longed for, even after weeks of trying vainly to cut him out of her heart. Without him she had been untethered, unmoored; his departure had shaken her faith and gouged wounds that took time to heal. Now holding onto each other she felt the strength and certainty of their bond, a sure foundation on which to build their lives.

She smiled against his chest with a contented sigh, feeling his heartbeat against her temple. "The best ones always do."


End file.
